LE

LE

This, somehow, reminds me of a story where an alcoholic is threatened by his wife: "You go out and come home steaming drunk again and I'm leaving you". Sure enough, he's an addict, him and his pal go out and get steaming drunk, so much so that he throws up down the front of his jacket. He's fretting, knowing what his wife said. "Don't worry," says his pal, "take this £20, tell your wife that somebody else was sick and to prove it, show her this money and say that they offered to pay for the cleaning cost". "Brilliant idea!" says the first guy, and goes home nervously to his wife. "You've been drinking again!" she says, angrily. "No, it wasn't me," he replies, "this other feller did it, and he offered to pay £20 for the cleaning the cleaning cost", he says showing her the money. "So why've you got £40 there then?" she asks. He replies "Oh, the other £20 is from the feller that shat in my pants"

LE

No Mildred, inflating a tyre is not called a blow job. That's... errm... something else entirely. When you get home tonight, make your husband a nice meal and ask him. He'll... errm... explain it to you.

Now in my 60's and even grumpier than I was in my 50's. Just so long as you realise that I'm right and you're wrong, we'll get along just fine, OK?

LE

Once during a fever I remembered that when a European is dying, there is usually some sort of ceremony in which he asks the pardon of others and pardons them. I have a great many enemies, and I thought, what should my answer be if some modernized persons should ask me my views on this? After considering it, I decided: Let them go on hating me. I shall not forgive a single one of them.